


Just This

by sixtysevenlmpala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:32:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixtysevenlmpala/pseuds/sixtysevenlmpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short fic written for the anonymous prompt: "wincest marriage proposal? :-)". Originally posted on <a href="http://sixtysevenlmpala.tumblr.com/post/46722709904/wincest-marriage-proposal">tumblr</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just This

They’re sitting at opposite ends of the couch, mainly because they share the habit of stretching their legs out, and even if Sam didn’t have the sasquatch limbs, it just wouldn’t work. There’s a movie playing on the TV, a DVD that Sam bought and has been raving about for approximately a week and a half, but in Dean’s book it’s dull and a half. Sam seems to be into it, though. Dean’s just stuck contenting himself with the popcorn.

So, really, it’s boredom more than anything else that causes Dean to look over, to actually _look_ at Sam, but when he does, everything just grinds to a halt. See, Sam’s wearing grey sweats that have seen better days and a baggy hoodie that swamps even his large frame - lazy Sunday attire. His hair is tousled, rumpled into a tufty mess from earlier when Dean pressed him into the mattress, and God, Dean thinks he’s _beautiful_. He doesn’t think he’s ever said it, definitely not by using that word, but it’s true. Not just in the way he looks, but in the way he’s laughing at some character’s intellectual joke that Dean has no hope of understanding - no interest in doing so, either, but he loves that Sam has - and the way he’s deliberately kept the bowl of popcorn closer to Dean, even though it means he has to stretch his long arm out to grab a handful if he wants any.

Dean makes a snap decision, then, and he grabs the remote and pauses the film, blood rushing in his ears.

“Uh,” Sam draws out, arching an eyebrow over at Dean when he fails to provide any explanation for the sudden silence. “Care to elaborate?”

Sam’s frowning at him, probably because Dean’s looking at him weirdly, a mixture of pure terror at what’s about to happen and sheer admiration for him.

Dean’s stomach is practically fucking somersaulting inside of him and it’s every thought that he’s turned over and over in his mind for the past few - God, he doesn’t even know how long. Months? Years? - bubbling up so far inside of him that it obscures his vision somewhat, so that the only thing he can see is Sam. He spares a moment to dwell on that, and thinks that if that was his reality, he wouldn’t mind a damn bit.

“I don’t want anyone else,” Dean blurts out, words tripping over themselves to get out of his mouth and finally, finally breathe fresh air.

“Well, yeah,” Sam replies slowly, trying to catch up. “Right. Okay. Dean, I thought we’d established this years ago now. We’re kinda past the age of no return, you know?”

“No, yeah, no, I mean I. I don’t want anyone else, like. Forever?” Dean mutters, attempting boldly to hold Sam’s gaze but letting his eyes flit away after a couple of seconds every time. “I just want… this.”

“This?”

“Sitting around in sweats and pajama bottoms watching awful movies with you. That’s what I want.” He says it almost harshly, consonants coming out clipped and sharp-edged, but they both know it’s just the way he sounds when he’s putting himself on the line, laying his feelings out for display.

“Okay. You… you’ve got that. Hey.” Sam still looks confused.

“No,” Dean says, frustrated. A second passes where he’s all twisted up, doesn’t know how to make it any clearer in a way that’s actually possible to someone as emotionally-fucking-challenged as he is.

Then, he decisively shoves the bowl of popcorn out of the way and pulls the amulet from around his neck, where it’s been hanging safe and sound ever since Sam returned it to him all those years ago. He crawls cautiously to the other end of the sofa, to where Sammy - his perfect, perfect Sammy - is curled up and watching him with a kind of baffled calm, and he wordlessly slips the cord over Sam’s bemused head.

“It could be, uh. Official. If you want.” Sam blinks at him, mouth dropping open a little, and Dean tries not to panic. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal, you don’t have to wear it if you, uh. Y’know. Whatever.”

“Stop,” Sam murmurs with a half-smile, his hand moving to trace lightly over Dean’s cheekbone. “Are you asking me what I think you’re asking me?”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean huffs, feeling his face heat. “It’s not like— I’m not exactly getting down on one knee, here, okay, it’s just—”

“Yeah,” Sam interrupts him, “yeah, I know, I know what it’s just.” He kisses him, then, all brain-meltingly slow and these happy, pleased little flicks of his tongue, and Dean starts to speak but Sam says, “Yes, Dean, okay? Yes. Just let me say yes.”

So Dean swallows down any protests he might have been nursing and, holy crap, he lets him do just that.

The small, shaped piece of gold is a hard, insistent reminder for both of them, and it seems to Dean to glow a little as they press it between their chests. There’s the sound of popcorn being crushed under Dean’s knees, and Sam’s barely-there stubble is scraping over his gun callouses. This is what he wants.

He kisses Sam back hard and as passionate as he thinks he can be, one hand holding Sam’s jaw while the other toys with the cord of the amulet, warmed by Sam’s skin. It feels like it means even more, now, and if Dean concentrates hard enough, he could swear he can feel the beat of their shared pulse through that thin black cord; a lifeline worlds away from any ring they could buy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, feel free to leave a comment/kudos if you liked!


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